You Should Have a Sense of Responsibility (7)
They called it the return to the fold through admonition. The purity of the unorthodox was the orthodox path itself, and the pinnacle of the orthodox was the unorthodox. In the end, whether it was the righteous way or the wild path, it all converged on the methodology that victory came at the extreme. Conversely, it also meant that defeat rendered everything pointless.
And according to my theory that tactics involved reading the opponent's hand and claiming victory with my own, I had already lost this game. The moment the princess's medium cavalry had successfully charged my horse archers just moments ago, my hand was almost entirely blocked.
The supply via wagons and the infinite arrow spam had been exposed, sealing our fate. Most of my horse archers were crippled, many bitten by the medium cavalry. Those medium cavalry were barely holding off the princess's numerically superior imperial medium infantry charging in. The only intact stronghold, the Nabek garrison… The centaurs firing from the flanks numbered fewer than a hundred—not impressive—and there wasn't enough time to take them all out with them alone. Enemy infantry were already smashing the wagons in front of the carriages, preparing to breach.
The princess still has roughly 600 to 700 infantry left… Medium cavalry around 400 to 500. About 200 archers too, but their arrows seem depleted, so treat them as reserve infantry.
My 700-odd horse archers had lost over a hundred, a fatal blow leading to inevitable collapse. Well, we'd grabbed all sorts of miscellaneous stuff at the expense of our main force, so a head-on clash was a foregone conclusion anyway.
Should I just forfeit…?
Clinging to a lost game was foolish. It wasn't courteous to the spectators outside waiting for it to end. Win or lose, what did it matter? It was just class, after all. Gritting my teeth and holding on yielded nothing, and I wasn't the type to stubbornly cling anyway.
So, hit surrender, say "Nice game" with a few slick words—that suited me better. We weren't that close anyway. Rival this, responsibility that—what reason did I have to keep it up?
Damn, if she'd just taken an arrow and surrendered. Why tank it like an idiot.
A princess raised in luxury, oblivious to pain.
"……."
Setting aside that inner conflict, there were still a few moves left. For instance, salvaging what horse archers I could from the melee. Factoring in friendly fire, if I poured arrows, some would lose their mounts and get pinned. With those salvaged archers, if I could bite the infantry surrounding these wagons even once, we might escape and regroup elsewhere for another fight.
My forces could all move at cavalry speed—mobility was our huge advantage. Exhausted enemy infantry couldn't keep up, and nimble maneuvers might shake off their medium cavalry. With luck, we could target the princess again, still guarded by her remaining troops.
Keep her spinning until she bleeds out from those arrows…
All options came to mind.
Surrender…
Wouldn't tapping out be better than that disgrace? I didn't like tiring myself out anyway. Clinging desperately in this life too? No thanks. I wanted a laid-back existence—reading books, serving as the margrave's lackey, grabbing modest gains before checking out.
Why bother trying hard?
That thought slowly raised its hand. What stopped my tongue from saying "surrender" was the presence of a certain woman far off.
The princess I was gaming against right now.
Ridiculous. Why try hard?
The answer was obvious. If I just bailed irresponsibly on someone who'd called me her rival, would that feel right? Could others accept me ditching like that?
……Is losing like this fun for you?
"……Haaah. Responsibility's a heavy bitch."
I dropped my hand once, then raised it to run through my hair. Strength flowed into the lifted hand unbidden.
"……That's why I said don't expect too much."
A mutter slipped out uncontrollably. Sounded random to outsiders, but oh well. If the princess saw me as her rival, I'd play along as best I could. No idea why it was 3-0, but I couldn't let it end 3-1 on a silver platter. Tease her with a 4-0—that's proper form, right?
Alright, let's do this.
If a pampered noble girl could tank arrows all over and stubbornly fight to win, how could a guy with double her life experience whine and quit?
No more cards left.
Resolve didn't change the empty hand. All paths blocked, and what little I had would slip away soon. So, force a new hand here. A shining draw? Nah, bloody draw.
As long as it's a game, options remain.
And.
I'll bet this round on the princess not being ruthless enough to abandon her troops…!
The next instant, instead of the noose tightening around my neck, I bellowed something else.
"Nabek garrison—!"
*
…What the hell's happening?
Charlotte, riddled with arrows and slumped against a tree trunk in a safe zone, stared in bewilderment at the sudden developments.
Her last attack had cost Hebel Baron heavily in centaurs. The survivors would crumble one by one to the medium cavalry counterattack. Once the rampaging horse archers outside fell, the baron—limbs severed—would surrender or die quietly in the surrounded wagons.
But.
Suddenly, some centaur horse archers weren't fleeing—they were charging into the medium cavalry ranks.
Desperation?
She thought so at first. No, it was the only explanation. Everyone knew what happened when lightly armed troops clashed with heavily plated medium cavalry. Centaurs or not, it was like tossing pitchfork peasants at knights. Suicide.
And that's exactly what it was.
Pipipipiping—!!
Short, whistling arrows burst anew from the wagon circle. Aimed right at the tangle of imperial medium cavalry and centaur horse archers.
Simultaneously, the centaurs unleashed arrows at the infantry too busy killing allies to react.
Of course, infantry plate wouldn't pierce from a few arrows. Not even Solarenion guaranteed that; ordinary reed arrows? No chance.
But naturally, the archers weren't targeting the riders' bodies.
"Hiihihihiiing…!!"
Mostly horse screams. Legs and underbellies, hard to armor. The traditional weakness that "somewhat" checked medium cavalry.
The centaurs nailed them amid the chaos.
Charlotte finally got it.
Sacrifice some horse archers as bait… Pin the cavalry, suppress with arrows…?
No matter how melee masters the medium cavalry were, killing required swings—and in that brawl, their prized horse mobility vanished. They had to tank arrows they'd normally dodge or block.
It mimicked real tactics: pin cavalry with spearmen who could endure, then pick off slowed riders with ranged fire. But here, they sacrificed their own precious horse archers to induce melee, then shot anyone who couldn't escape.
In Hebel terms, a bivouac variant—but Charlotte wouldn't know that. Just absurd.
…Is he insane?
Everyone knew bows worked on horses despite armor. But timing shots without hitting allies was tricky.
Ordering your own troops to die? Even in a mock battle with no accountability, no one could.
Who'd tell their soldiers, "Arrows gone? Time to die"?
"Infantry…!"
Caught in this madness, Charlotte—about to lose her medium cavalry card—hastily pulled some infantry shoving the wagons.
Archers as reserves? Spent, and white-knighting against horse archers would just get them shot.
She too had to yank infantry from the front for rescue.
And this grand friendly fire massacre was designed to force that choice—obvious without saying.
The infantry pounding the wagons thinned as some peeled off; through the gap, dark-armored cavalry burst out.
The "centaur noble medium cavalry" who'd guarded the wagons till now.
Not just them.
"Kwaaaak…!!"
Between infantry crushed and flung by horse-and-rider weight, more centaurs poured out, lying in wait.
No point defending wagons anymore. Better counterattack through the infantry.
And it was spot-on.
Hebel's last edge: mobility. Why waste cavalry-speed troops rotting in wagons?
They charged out, slamming into the tangled imperial medium cavalry and supporting infantry.
I thought I'd broken them…!
Charlotte knew. Chaotic as it was, the form meant one thing: nomadic specialty post-swarm tactics. Horse archers feint retreat, then envelop flanks while medium cavalry pins the front—surround and annihilate.
Unable to command properly on the front line, she watched her forces get sucked in, helpless.